


soapsuds in her eyes, hands

by kbaycolt



Series: victorious [1]
Category: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab
Genre: AU where they live happily ever after, Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Gen, takes place post-vengeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt
Summary: In the months after Eli's death, Victor stays gone. Mitch and Sydney live with the absence.
Relationships: Mitchell "Mitch" Turner & Victor Vale, Sydney Clarke & Mitchell "Mitch" Turner, Sydney Clarke & Mitchell "Mitch" Turner & Victor Vale
Series: victorious [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024116
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	soapsuds in her eyes, hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowers_and_lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowers_and_lavender/gifts).



> strongly doubt this is in character. but also consider. i don't care

It was a warm, windy autumn evening when Victor came home.

Home. Even after all this time, Mitch still found it odd to call any place home. Five years shuffling across the country meant home had lost its meaning, and all that was left was _temporary_. Home had, instead, become a person.

Well. Two people.

And a dog.

Mitch's home was together at last, and there was no more _temporary_. They were staying here for good this time. The place was small and cozy, penned in on all sides by towering pine trees and flat blue sky. Sydney picked it, a few weeks after Victor disappeared. No, not disappeared. After Victor left.

He tried not to be bitter about it. It wasn't in Mitch's nature to hold grudges, to stay resentful, but he couldn't shake the tight, cold ball of anger that would coil inside his chest when he thought of Victor. That after all this time together, all Mitch and Sydney had done for him, that he would just vanish.

Mitch had known it wasn't as simple as that. He knew Victor needed space, that Victor didn't want any more harm to come to them with him around. He knew Victor did it out of the misguided notion of protecting them.

But that didn't erase the hurt. The abandonment.

When Sydney brought him the ad for a little cottage down a winding gravel lane in rural Montana, Mitch had briefly thought, _Victor would hate it_ \- But Victor hadn't been there. So Mitch smiled at her and they bought the house.

In the days after that, they lived in some poor mockery of domesticity. Mitch cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Syd brought little dead mice and birds back to breathe life into. Dol thumped his tail on the hardwood whenever either of them stepped into a room. Together, they painted the walls a deep blue, almost black, at Syd's direction.

"Why blue?" he asked her.

Syd looked proudly up at the indigo paint, still drying. "I thought Victor would like it."

That was the worst part of it. Sydney still thought Victor was coming back. Mitch wanted to believe the way she did; that one day, if they waited long enough and prayed hard enough, Victor would show up on their front steps in a sweeping black coat like an angel of death, a small smile curving his lips, blue eyes bright and cold and healthy.

That one day, if Mitch simply believed deep in his heart, Victor would waltz back into their lives like he had never left, and would never leave again.

Mitch liked to look on the bright side, but his optimism didn't reach that far.

Still, if it brought Syd comfort, he wasn't going to crush her hope. He wanted Victor back too. Even despite how terrible it had been, watching Victor slowly destroy himself on a vengeance quest, Mitch had stayed because he could see what was underneath. He could see those little snippets of a genuine person inside Victor's hardened shell. The flashes of humor, of affection, that were dulled and tamped down under his powers and emotional walls. Mitch knew it wasn't Victor's fault, that the loss of pain meant the loss of feeling; but he couldn't say it wasn't disheartening all the same.

And after Victor died, it only got worse.

They had a few weeks of peace, where everything seemed perfect and right with the world at last. Victor had been lost without his hunt, without his drive, and Mitch had endeavored to fill Victor's newfound loss. Game nights. Surprising him with his favorite meals. Going for walks, when it was safe. Little, silly domestic things that Mitch never really got to do with anyone before. It was clear Victor hadn't either, because he'd been quietly bewildered every time Sydney roped them into marathoning a TV series with her, or when Mitch set up a chore wheel to rotate tasks between them.

Victor just didn't know how to handle normalcy. Ten years jail, five of which were spent in isolation, could do that to a person. Especially a person who'd had his emotions quite literally burned out of him in college.

Jesus.

* * *

When Victor started to get sick, it felt like inevitability. Mitch had hissed, "This isn't fair," one night, after Sydney had gone to sleep and Victor had collapsed, muscles locked in agony, as Mitch could do nothing but hover nearby and wait for him to ride it out.

"What makes you think anything about my life is fair?" Victor had replied, voice hoarse and weak. He was on the couch, curled into Mitch's side, head tipped onto his shoulder.

Mitch had wanted to shake him and force him to place some value on his own damn existence.

Instead, he allowed silence to fall over them, until Victor was asleep in his arms.

He had no nightmares that night. Mitch wanted to believe it was because Victor felt safe with him or some bullshit, but he knew it was really because Victor simply had no energy left, to devote to dreams or otherwise.

* * *

Mitch had never been the faith type, but sometimes he found himself standing in the dark kitchen at night, looking out the open window at the treeline and the speckles of stars far above, and thought if there was any sort of god out there, the least it could do was bring Victor home.

Then he would close the window, and his weak imitation of a prayer would dissolve on the night wind.

* * *

It was the end of summer. Late august. Almost four months without Victor.

Mitch was outside, in the small garden he had begun tending to over the summer. It boasted exactly one drooping tomato plant that he was trying his hardest to save. Syd was on the rooftop -- he was keeping an eye on her -- in the process of snapping pictures of the setting sun as the evening descended. It was a beautiful, perfect day. The sun's heat was mitigated by puffy clouds that cast deep shadows over them as they moved, swept along by the quick breeze that rattled the trees and blew Sydney's sunhat off of her head more than once.

"Be careful!" Mitch called for the third time in the past hour, as Sydney's lithe form swayed momentarily in the wind.

"I'm fine!" she yelled back.

He sighed to himself. His hands were caked in dark soil, still slightly damp from the brief shower yesterday. The sickly tomato plant's leaves fluttered gently. It had a single tiny red tomato dangling from its stem, which Mitch reluctantly plucked. No point in leaving it to rot if it was ready.

The warmth of the evening was steadily draining away. The sun had fallen below the tips of the trees, casting their little secluded meadow in a deep violet shadow. Dinner was in the oven, and should be ready within the hour.

Mitch pushed himself to his feet, pocketing the lone tomato. "Syd!" he said, making his way back over to the house. "Let's go inside. It's getting late."

Syd wobbled over to the propped-up ladder and began to slowly climb down, with Mitch holding the base steady for her. She made it to the bottom, hopping off the last step with a quick laugh.

"You're going to sprain something one of these days," he said.

"Oh, I've dealt with worse than a sprain."

Mitch frowned.

She noticed his expression. "It's alright, Mitch, I'm joking. I'm fine!" She waved her hands at herself, whole and healthy, in demonstration.

"I know. I just don't like remembering you hurt."

Sydney gave him a gentle look. Mitch acquiesced, dropping it, as they started to head back inside. She went through first, and stopped short. Mitch bumped into her.

"What?" he asked, glancing over her shoulder at the dining room.

He froze.

Sitting at the dining table, casual as all hell, sat Victor Vale. His signature dark coat was folded neatly over the top of the chair. He was still in head to toe black, looking for all intents and purposes like he hadn't changed his clothes since the day he left. With one leg crossed over the other, his head propped up on his palm, he smiled crookedly at them, blue eyes shining. His other hand was busy scratching Dol's head. The dog was wagging his tale wildly, nose eagerly pushing into Victor's palm.

"My mother should know," Victor said, in that careful way that meant he was reciting something, "I'd break her heart, tumble downhill and break my neck. She never learns."

Mitch couldn't move. Sydney, likewise, was deathly still in front of him, staring at Victor. She was trembling, just a bit.

"What, no heartwarming welcome?" he prompted, lifting his head. He looked a little nervous now. "Took me ages to track you down, you know." His eyes moved up to meet Mitch's. "Was it the poem? It's 'Coming Home' by Walter McDonald. Thought it was fitting. Not my usual, but sweet enough I suppose."

The tense, barbed quiet stretched on. Victor uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again, beginning to fidget.

Mitch felt like he was hallucinating.

Finally, _finally_ , Syd broke her silence. "You," she said, voice wobbly, "you _bastard_."

And then she lunged at Victor.

He jolted back, startled, but she just threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. She made an awful gasping sound, like she was holding back tears. Victor quickly returned the hug, one hand around her shoulders and the other coming up to brush soothingly through her bright green hair.

"Hey," he said, holding her tight as she shook against him. "Hey, now. It's okay. I'm sorry it took me so long."

"Motherfucker," Sydney sobbed into his shirt.

"Yeah, I, I deserve that. It's good to see you, Syd."

She drew back, eyes rimmed with red. She wiped her tear-streaked cheeks and glared fiercely at Victor. Her voice was raspy but furious. "Where _were_ you? You didn't come! You promised to come! You broke another promise."

"Are you really surprised? I seem to be doing that a lot lately."

Syd sucked in a deep breath, seemingly calming herself. Victor was still petting her hair. He had a strange, tight look on his face as he looked up at Mitch.

"Your turn?" he said uncertainly.

Mitch couldn't stop staring. Victor looked... fine. Better than fine. Still tired, still tense, but the edge of desperation he'd taken on in those final months of his sickness was gone. He didn't look on the verge of collapse, or nervous breakdown. In fact, he looked almost rejuvenated, his gaunt cheeks filled out and sharp angles smoothed over. Despite everything, he looked healthy.

Safe.

Before he knew it, Mitch had taken several steps forward until he was right in front of Victor. He still loomed over the other man, and had forgotten the easy comfort of the height difference as Victor tilted his head up to look Mitch in the eyes.

"Hi," Victor said, and it was such a ridiculous thing to hear from Victor, such an awkward phrase from a man who'd killed dozens, that Mitch caved and reached down, clasping Victor to his chest in a tight embrace.

Victor was still so thin, it was hardly difficult. He made a brief noise of protest before sighing and wrapping his arms around Mitch.

"Going to curse me out too?" Victor said, voice muffled.

"Not until Sydney is out of the room," Mitch replied.

"I can handle some curse words," Sydney said.

"Not these curse words you can't."

"Oh, I'm getting the special prison curses, then," Victor said. "I'm honored."

He shifted slightly, and Mitch loosened his grip enough for Victor to twist and grin up at him. All mischief, no hint of the darkness that so frequently lurked behind his teeth. Mitch's small coil of anger melted into something like concern. How much had they missed? What had Victor done in all those months he'd been gone, to come back so cavalier?

But Mitch knew interrogating him now wouldn't go well. Besides, Victor was finally home. They all deserved a little rest.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again," Mitch told Victor, very calmly and reasonably, "I will erase Syd and I from the map entirely, we will move out of the country, and you will never be able to find us to come crawling back again."

Victor winced. "Right. Of course."

Finally, Mitch allowed himself a smile. "Sydney knew you would come back," he said, drawing away from Victor, albeit reluctantly, when he sensed Victor growing antsy with the prolonged contact. "She never gave up."

"I'm touched," Victor said. His voice was low with amusement, but the tiny, warm smile betrayed his true feelings. He never was good at tamping down his emotions for very long, at least not to Mitch. He crossed his arms, eyeing the oven. "So. What are we having for dinner?"

"You never change," Mitch sighed.

When Sydney punched Victor in the shoulder, he stumbled and muttered "ow", though that was likely more for her ego than anything else.

"That's for not telling us where you went," she said, scowling.

"And what will my punishment be for my myriad of other sins?"

"I haven't decided yet, but don't get comfortable."

"Mitch," Victor complained. "She's threatening my safety."

Mitch deliberately turned away from them both, instead opting to busy himself with taking the food out of the oven. Victor and Syd continued to bicker behind him, perfectly acting the part of beleaguered friends rather than parent and child. As Mitch got down the plates and began cutting up servings, Victor arrived at his elbow, peering down at the food.

"Hands off," Mitch warned. "Just because I'm happy you're home doesn't mean you get to touch my food."

"You're happy I'm home?"

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Hands _off_ , Vale."

"Fine." Victor leaned against the counter. He looked away, as if trying to appear casual, eyes anywhere but on Mitch. Some of the earlier tension had left him, leaving only exhaustion behind. Mitch shook his head to himself. Truly, Victor could never change.

When he pressed a plate of food into Victor's hands, and Victor gave him only a solemn nod in lieu of thanks, Mitch knew they were going to be okay.

His optimism could reach a little farther.

**Author's Note:**

> hello this book series made me lose my mind i'm so far down hyperfixation lane i feel GREAT woooOOOOOOoo


End file.
